If You Call, I Will Answer
by HoppyToad
Summary: Quinn's not sure when exactly she became that friend that Santana and Brittany call at three in the morning to tell about the latest drama in their lives. Maybe it's all just part of being The Unholy Trinity. It isn't always easy being that person, but Quinn knows that more often than not, it turns out to be worth the stress. Future Fic. Brittana over the years from Quinn's POV
1. Chapter 1

Quinn should be asleep. She really really should be asleep. Thankfully everybody else finally is. She had tried to send everyone to bed early, had tried to cut off the wine before anyone even got tipsy. No-one can say she hadn't at least tried. After all it's her responsibility to make sure tomorrow goes ahead without any hitches, and Quinn Fabray always takes her responsibilities seriously. She had even suggested to Brittany that they remove all alcohol from the house before the others arrived, just to be on the safe side, but Brittany had just laughed and shook her head, as if Quinn had just made some hilarious joke. She had worried that meant Brittany had planned on getting drunk tonight, but in fact Brittany hasn't had even a drop. Instead it's Mercedes and Tina who have emptied at least four bottles of wine between them. Though Quinn may have had a glass or three.

Mercedes and Tina are passed out on the sofa, though Quinn isn't too concerned. Two hungover bridesmaids are the least of her worries about tomorrow. Besides she's sure that jet lag is playing some part. They both had only flown in this afternoon, whereas she's been in San Francisco for a week now, making sure everything is in place. She knows she's maybe taken over this wedding a little bit, well, okay a lot, but isn't she allowed to as maid of honor? It's not that she doesn't trust them to plan their own wedding, it's just well, she doesn't trust them. She also doesn't trust the rest of the Glee club. It's been years since they were all in a room together and that can only mean trouble. Not that everyone is going to be there. She gets the feeling that Finn's invitation may have been lost in the post. She's still surprised by Brittany's ability to hold a grudge.

She sighs when it finally sinks in that it's almost three am, and she can't help wondering if there's any point in going to bed at this time. Brittany went upstairs around two hours ago, though Quinn isn't sure how she's even able to think about sleeping. Though it's a good thing if she does get some sleep. Quinn knows from experience that a sleep deprived Brittany is a dangerous Brittany.

She's still debating whether to drag herself upstairs to the spare room or if sleeping here, slumped over the kitchen table is a better idea, when her cellphone starts to ring. She's been expecting this call, it's just a surprise it's taken this long. She takes a deep breath, then answers it. "What?"

"I just called to say I hate you."

Yeah, this is going to be exactly what she expected. "For any particular reason or just in general, Santana?"

If she'd been more alert she would have known better than to ask that question, would have realised that it's an open invitation for Santana to subject her to a twenty minute rant on all the ways Quinn's wronged her over the years. But she isn't really in any state to be dealing with Santana's special brand of crazy right now.

"Oh gee, let me think. What possible reason could there be for me to hate you, Fabray?" Unfortunately the damage is done. "Do you think maybe it's because you banished me to this hellhole for the night, while you get to stay in my house with my girl?" Quinn wants to point out that the five-star hotel room that she's shelling out for can hardly be called a hellhole, but Santana isn't finished. "Or maybe it's because not only did you seem to think I needed a babysitter, but you sent me Puckerman and Trouty Mouth."

She decides not to tell Santana that she didn't exactly have much choice, that nobody else was stupid enough to volunteer to Santana-sit on tonight of all nights. She also doesn't tell her that Puck's only there because she's paying him. But hey, at least Sam had been eager to help. "Well I figured between the two of them, at least they would have no problem dragging your ass back over the border if you decided to flee to Mexico."

There's only silence in response and Quinn quickly sits up, hoping that she hasn't just given Santana any ideas. "S? You there?"

"Yeah, I was just trying to work out which offended me more. That you think I'd run out on Britt like that, or that you think I couldn't take those two losers."

"No second thoughts then?"

Santana scoffs. "Oh please, I've got this down." The way her voice wavers ever so slightly tells Quinn otherwise.

"You're terrified, aren't you?"

"Scared shitless."

Quinn thinks that's normal, but she isn't exactly an expert on the subject. "You'll be fine."

"Yeah, I know, but it just sucks that Brittany gets your company, and I have to put up with these assholes."

"It can't be that bad."

"They hired a stripper, Quinn. A stripper!"

She'll kill them. She gave them three simple instructions. Number One, don't let Santana out of their sight just in case she decides to go all Runaway Bride on them. Two, don't get her blind drunk or stoned, as tomorrow will be stressful enough without everyone having to deal with a hungover Santana Lopez as well. And number three, no strippers as Brittany will find out and then Brittany will be mad and a pissed off Brittany is never a good thing.

Quinn tries to stay calm, getting stressed out isn't going to help anyone. "Well it is your last night of freedom, so I suppose if there's a time for you to be appreciating other women, then this is it."

"The only woman I want to appreciate is Brittany, and you're currently stopping me from doing that, Quinn, and that is not a smart thing to do."

There's going to be payback of some kind over this, Quinn is starting to realise that, but as long as Santana is at the other end of a telephone line, then she's safe. She decides to try and appease Santana anyway, to try and point out the bright side. "Just think about how much more special this time apart will make the wedding night though."

It seems to work as Santana sighs. "I suppose."

"Trust me, okay. Now go get some sleep because I do not want Snix making an appearance tomorrow because you're too tired to function properly." Maybe it wasn't one of her better ideas to trust Santana's well-being to Sam and Puck, as they seem to be doing a lousy job of it.

"I can't sleep."

Quinn almost suggests Santana take some sleeping pills, but quickly thinks better of it. "It's just nerves, S. Relax, nothing is going to wrong."

"No, it's not that. I just..." She hears Santana take a deep breath. "Quinn, can I not just come home?"

She's never heard Santana's voice sound so small and pathetic before, and Quinn starts to feel guilty about insisting she spend the night away from Brittany. She's determined to stand her ground though. "Santana, no. You know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding." The last time one of her friends broke that particular tradition, Quinn got hit by a truck, and she isn't about to tempt fate.

"It's just I miss her, Q. I miss her so fucking much."

She can't help rolling her eyes. "It's one night. One night and then after tomorrow you get to spend the rest of your life with her. You're seriously telling me that you can't survive twenty four hours apart?" It only now hits her that maybe they can't. They have always been scarily co-dependent on each other. Santana's silence only confirms her suspicions. "Really? I don't know if that's the most adorable or most pathetic thing I've ever heard."

"Shut up, Fabray." Santana really doesn't sound amused.

"When's the last time you actually spent the night apart?"

When her question is only met with silence, she thinks that she isn't going to get an answer, but then Santana laughs. "You know, Q, I honestly can't remember."

Quinn finds herself smiling, and something tells her Santana is too. "Santana?"

"Yeah?"

"You're getting married tomorrow."

"Yeah."

They're both silent for a while, letting that sink in. Soon Quinn finds herself fighting back a yawn. "Seriously though, Santana, go and at least try to get some sleep."

"Fine, whatever. I still hate you though, Fabray. Just saying." Santana hangs up before Quinn has chance to respond to that, leaving her shaking her head.

She really should take her own advice and so she climbs to her feet and makes her way upstairs, careful not to wake the others as she does so. As she's passing by Brittany's room, she's sure she can hear Brittany speaking in a low whisper. Maybe Brittany is more stressed about tomorrow than she had been letting on and is having some kind of debate with herself. Or maybe she's having a complete meltdown in there. Quinn decides she'd better check. She stops and knocks on the door.

She can hear movement inside the room, then Brittany calls out, "Hold on." More shuffling, then Brittany opens the door. "What?"

"Just checking if you're okay." Quinn raises an eyebrow.

Brittany certainly doesn't look stressed. In fact she looks incredibly relaxed. Too relaxed. "Yeah, I'm good." She then starts to close the door in Quinn's face and Quinn has to quickly put a hand out to stop her, frowning.

"Do you need anything?"

Brittany looks like she's about to say something, but then just shakes her head. "Nope." She pushes the door again and this time Quinn lets her close it. Brittany doesn't shut it fully though, instead she's left it ajar. Quinn starts to walk away, one of the floorboards creaking as she does, but then something makes her stop and she creeps back to the door, leaning as close as she can and just listens.

"Okay, she's gone. It really didn't work?" Brittany sighs. "You did tell her there was a stripper, right? And she was cool with that? Damn, maybe I should have asked her to hire me a stripper." She hears Brittany laugh. "Relax, San, I'm kidding. You know the only woman I want giving me lap-dances is you."

Quinn's about to burst into the room and tell Brittany they're busted, but something stops her when Brittany lowers her voice and she hears her say, "I love you too, Santana. All these years and I still love you more than anything in the world."

Quinn suddenly feels like she's intruding, like she isn't supposed to be hearing this conversation. They'll be making enough public declarations of love tomorrow, for now she should let them have this, a private moment that's just for them.

She's backing away from the door when that damn floorboard creaks again and she freezes. She relaxes when Brittany speaks again, a little louder now. "Yeah...what am I wearing? Your Stanford hoodie. Why?"

Quinn freezes. Okay, so she really shouldn't be listening in on this conversation.

"Oh...well I'm not wearing anything but your Stanford hoodie if that helps. Now why don't you tell me what you're wearing, though I'm kinda hoping the answer is nothing at all, because then there'd be nothing stopping me from dropping to my knees and..."

Yeah, Quinn should definitely not be listening in on this conversation. She turns to run, but somehow manages to trip over her own feet in her hurry to get out of earshot. She hits the carpet and can't stop herself from letting out a yell. She looks up to find Brittany standing in the doorway, her cellphone pressed to her ear, head tilted as she stares down at her. There's a slight smirk on Brittany's lips as she speaks into the phone. "Yeah, it worked...No, she didn't break anything...Don't be mean."

Quinn sits up, rubbing at her arm, realisation hitting her that Brittany knew she was eavesdropping the whole time. "Brittany, will you tell your fiancee that she's a bitch?"

Brittany simply shrugs. "Santana says you're a bitch for not letting her stay here tonight, and I kinda have to agree with her."

"It's tradition."

Brittany frowns. "Quinn, come on, when have we ever cared about tradition?"

So maybe Brittany has a point there, but then they really shouldn't have asked her to be their maid of honor. Not that they did actually if she's honest. She may have volunteered her services, but still, they're stuck with her now. "It's one night," Quinn grumbles.

"Exactly." Brittany's frown deepens, and she's looking down at Quinn like she can't understand why she doesn't get it. "But Santana says that as long as you keep Rachel on a short leash tomorrow, don't let her sing more than is absolutely necessary and don't let her hug Santana, then we'll forgive you."

Something tells Quinn those might be more Brittany's terms than Santana's. Either way she's going to have her work cut out making that happen. "And if I fail?"

"You won't fail, Quinn. We have total confidence in you." Brittany smiles at her, then bounces off back into the bedroom, leaving Quinn still sat on the floor. She soon pokes her head back out the room though. "Hey Quinn, is it bad luck to have phone sex with the bride before the wedding? Because Santana says it isn't, but I just wanted to check."

Quinn holds her head in her hands. She really should have learned by now not to be involved in any wedding parties. "I'd just like to point out that Rachel has appointed herself as my understudy for tomorrow. So if I end having a heart attack before the ceremony, or get into a traffic accident of any kind, you do realise that you get Rachel Berry as your maid of honor?"

Brittany's face falls. "So is that a yes to the phone sex, or not?"

Quinn can only sigh and climbs to her feet. "I give up. Should never have answered my cell. Should have just ignored it and let Santana rant at my voice mail, but no, had to answer it." She shakes her head and walks down the hallway.

"Hey, Quinn?"

She stops and glances back at Brittany, not really sure she wants to ask. "Yeah?"

Brittany only shrugs though. "Thanks for, you know, everything."

Quinn nods, then slowly makes her way to the spare room where she promptly collapses onto the bed. It doesn't take long for her to fall asleep, only to find herself haunted by dreams where she's chasing Rachel Berry around a reception hall, while Rachel continuously belts out Broadway hit after Broadway hit. Maybe staying awake wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Sorry to disappoint anyone who was expecting this fic to focus on Brittana's wedding. I do really want to write that story at some point, but feel like any Brittana wedding needs a fic of its own. This fic is going to stay focused on the Unholy Trinity friendship over the years.**

* * *

Quinn learned a long time ago that if the phone rings in the early hours of the morning, then it can only mean one of two things. One, someone is calling with bad news, or two, Santana is having a freak out. It's always Santana that calls, never Brittany. Even though more often than not Brittany is the cause of said freak out, and even though most of the time Quinn ends up speaking to her at some point anyway, It's always Santana that makes that initial call, and it's always three am, as if Santana waits for the clock to tick over to that specific time before phoning just to spite her.

Still she's usually relieved when it turns out to be Santana on the other end of the line, as at least that means no-one has died. But sometimes, just sometimes, and she spends the next three days consumed with guilt for even thinking it, but sometimes she finds herself thinking she might actually have preferred it to be bad news. And tonight is one of those nights. She has an important meeting first thing in the morning, so when she's woken up by her phone ringing at, surprise surprise, three am, she considers not answering it. She'll only regret it, she knows from past experience that she'll only regret it, but like always she finds herself stumbling out of bed and searching around her apartment for the phone. This time it takes her a while to realise that it's actually on the base for once, and the machine picks up just as she's reaching for the handset.

"Your call can not be taken right now, so please leave a message after the beep." She really should make the effort to get around to recording her own message, but then she always has hated hearing her own voice on those things.

"Hey." Quinn was right about it being Santana anyway. "Guess you're fast asleep or something."

Maybe it's not such a bad idea to let Santana talk to her machine instead, at least until Quinn figures out if this is important enough for her to spend all day exhausted or not.

"I know it's late, and I know I really shouldn't be calling you at this time, but I don't care. I had to speak to you." The words are slurred, slow. Great. She gets to deal with Drunk Santana, and not weepy, hysterical Drunk Santana, that she knows how to handle, she's had enough practice. But no, tonight she gets quiet, reflective Drunk Santana, and she only usually makes an appearance when Santana is long past drunk and well into absolutely wasted. She hasn't received a phone-call like this since Junior year of high school and she'd had to go pick Santana up from some bar just outside of Lima. Even to this day, Santana has shown no signs of even remembering that night, or of the things she told Quinn, things that she would never have told her sober. Knowing that something must be seriously wrong if Santana is calling her like this, Quinn thinks maybe she'd best answer the phone after-all

"I had to call. I had to call to tell you how much I miss you."

Quinn's hand hovers over the handset, Santana's words stopping her from picking up. Sentimental Santana. That's a new one.

"I've not been able to stop thinking about you all day."

Okay, now that's slightly more weird. She waits, letting Santana continue talking to her machine.

"I'm stuck in this stupid excuse for a city and all I want is to be there with you instead."

Quinn can only frown at the phone. This whole one-sided conversation is starting to feel a little odd. Maybe this is all a dream. A very surreal, very strange, dream. She has to admit it's very rare for Santana to make guest appearances in her dreams though. In fact there's only two people from McKinley who do so. Coach Sylvester will still occasionally show up in her nightmares to randomly make her run suicides, or just to yell at her. And for some reason she can't put her finger on, Rachel Berry will sometimes appear to serenade her and then the rest of her dream will turn into a musical. But she can't remember ever dreaming about Santana before.

"You know I've been lying here awake for hours, just staring at the fucking ceiling, wondering just what the hell I'm doing here, when I could be there, in bed with you."

Quinn forgets that Santana can't hear her and a panicked "What?" escapes her lips.

"God, if I was, do you know the things I'd be doing to you right now?"

No, she doesn't. She's far too half asleep and confused to make any sense of this conversation, but she's awake enough to know that there's something very wrong here.

"I miss your boobs, like really miss them. I swear you have like the best boobs on the planet."

Quinn can't decide if she should be flattered or freaked out by that. She was stressed out enough about this meeting tomorrow, without having to deal with her best friend, her very married best friend, suddenly complimenting her breasts.

"I'd totally be all up on those if you were here now. Have I ever told you how much I fucking love how I only have to roll a nipple between my fingers and you arch your back, desperate for more of my touch?"

Quinn's eyes widen, as things suddenly click into place, and she grabs for the handset. "Santana!"

"And God, the way your breath catches when I..."

"Santana, please stop talking. I'm begging you, please stop talking right now."

There's a very long awkward pause. "Quinn?"

"Yes. Quinn. So you really need to not finish that last sentence, okay?"

More silence, and Quinn realises that now Santana is the confused one, which makes a nice change. "Quinn, why are you at my house? Is Brittany okay? Oh God, something's happened, hasn't it? What's wrong?" Santana's voice is full of fear now.

"I'm not at your house. Calm down. Nothing's happened. Brittany's fine." Quinn speaks the words slowly, trying to be as clear as possible. Short words, short sentences, so that Santana can understand them in her current state.

She hears Santana take a deep breath. "You're sure?"

No, Quinn isn't sure, seeing as she's in Chicago, and Brittany's in San Francisco, and she really wouldn't have a clue how Brittany is, but the last thing she wants to do is cause Santana a heart attack by pointing that out. Besides she's sure someone would have been in touch with Santana by now if there was anything wrong. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Good. Thank God." Santana sighs, then goes quiet again.

Quinn wonders if she'd get away with hanging up. The chances of Santana remembering this conversation are slim, and maybe it's best if she just pretends it never happened.

Santana speaks again before she can make her mind up though. "Quinn, why am I talking to you?"

"You called me. You must've called the wrong number." Quinn's actually impressed that Santana even managed to dial anyone's number correctly considering how drunk she sounds.

"I called you?"

Quinn walks over to the sofa and sinks down onto it. She really should never have gotten out of bed. "Yeah."

"But I..." Santana's voice breaks as she trails off. "I tried to have phone sex with you."

"Well technically you tried to have phone sex with my answering machine."

Santana sniffs, and something tells Quinn that she's about to become Weepy Hysterical Santana, which means she's sobering up a little, which might not be a good thing right now. "What am I going to tell Brittany?" Yeah, definitely not a good thing.

Quinn sits forward, starting to panic herself. "Nothing. You don't tell Brittany anything, because there's nothing to tell." Quinn could really do without Brittany ever finding out about this. Something tells her she'd take it completely the wrong way, especially if Santana calls her drunk and crying. This is a non-event, but she has a bad feeling that it's all about to be blown out of all proportions and she'll be the one who pays the price for that. "Nothing happened. You thought you were phoning Brittany."

"But I phoned you." Now that Quinn would count as a wail and Santana definitely sounds like she's crying now. "I can't lie to her, Q. I have to tell her. I have to call her now. I have to tell her the truth."

"What truth?" Why does she get the feeling she's about to get into trouble for something that is really not her fault? Something that actually only happened in Santana's head?

"About how I cheated on her with you."

Quinn is sure her jaw literally drops to the floor. "How have we gone from you misdialing and making a couple of suggestive comments on my machine, to us having an affair?"

Santana lets out a sob. "I love her so much, Quinn. How could I do this to her?"

Quinn slams her palm into her forehead. Unfortunately this only confirms that this isn't a nightmare, it's really happening. "You didn't do anything. Are you that wasted that you can't see that? Are you even listening to anything I'm saying?"

"I have to tell her, have to tell her about our affair." Apparently Santana must be paying some attention, as she seems to have picked up on Quinn's use of the word affair.

If Santana makes that phone call, then Quinn's a dead woman. She's sure even if she flees the country then Brittany would still somehow track her down. Quinn remembers all too well that Spring Break their junior year of college. They'd gone down to Cancun, and in a bar one night, some girl had make the mistake of asking Santana if she wanted to dance. To say they'd been surprised when Brittany had promptly punched the poor girl in the face would be an understatement. Well, Quinn had been surprised. Judging by the way Santana had dragged Brittany back to their hotel room, telling Quinn not to dare bother them until morning, she thinks Santana had just been turned on. Now Quinn's always believed that Brittany's violent response that night had been fueled by alcohol and the drugs she's fairly certain the two of them had been taking behind her back, but Quinn is not going to take any chances. "Santana Lopez, don't you dare make that phone call And for heavens sake, don't use the word affair. There's been no affair. There's been no anything. Nothing has ever happened between us, Santana."

Unfortunately, Santana seems to be completely ignoring her. It's almost as if she's now just rambling to herself. "If I beg, explain that I didn't mean to, that it was an accident, maybe she'll forgive me."

"Yeah, I'm sure she would forgive you, but she'd kill me."

"I can't keep this from her. I have to tell her." Santana hangs up before Quinn can say anything else.

Quinn can only sit there listening to the dial tone. If only she hadn't answered the phone. If only she'd ripped it out of the wall instead of thinking it would ever be a good idea to pick up. She really should have learned that no good ever comes from Santana being that drunk, but it's too late now, the damage is done.

She drops the phone down onto the sofa, not having the energy to replace it, and she staggers back through to the bedroom. If she's lucky, she can still get three hours sleep. Plus there's always a chance that Santana might pass out before she's able to call Brittany.

Apparently it's really not her night though, because she's just about starting to drift back to sleep when her cellphone starts ringing. She fumbles around on the bedside table, eventually finding it. She checks the caller ID and is not even slightly surprised to see Brittany's name flashing on the screen. She's already answered it before her exhausted mind can point out that might be a mistake.

She doesn't even get the chance to say hello before Brittany starts talking. "Quinn, I know you probably haven't gotten any in a while, and I know that Santana is like the hottest woman on the planet, but that doesn't mean it's okay for you to make a move on her. Especially when she's drunk and vulnerable. That's not cool, Quinn, not cool."

Quinn sits up quickly, that panic starting to build back up inside her, though she doesn't know why when she hasn't done anything wrong. "Britt, I..."

"And you're supposed to be my friend, yet as soon as my back is turned you try to seduce my wife and..." Brittany trails off and instead starts laughing, laughing so hard that she can't even seem to speak any more.

"Britt?"

Brittany just continues to laugh. Eventually though she manages to get some words out. "Sorry, Quinn. I can't even pretend to be mad at you. I mean, seriously? As if Santana would ever cheat on me with you. Most ridiculous idea ever, right?"

Quinn wonders if she should be insulted by Brittany's reaction, but she's mostly just relieved that at least Brittany has taken it for what it was. "You didn't believe her?"

"Course not. I mean she was really drunk, so she wasn't making much sense, but I know she'd never sleep with anyone else, so it had to be the alcohol making things up in her head. Plus she's had plenty of chances to cheat on me over the years, with far hotter women than you. Yet she hasn't. And she never will do."

Quinn's a little surprised that Brittany's so certain. After-all Santana never had a problem cheating on her partners back in high school, but then Brittany has always been Santana's exception for everything. "You're really sure of that, aren't you?"

"Well yeah, course. It's Santana." There's not even a trace of doubt in Brittany's voice, and Quinn can't help smiling slightly.

"Where is she anyway that she's decided to go on one of her drinking sprees?"

"She had to go down to San Diego for some depositions and stuff. Three days she's been gone, Quinn, and you know what? It sucks."

Three days. Quinn's pretty sure that's the longest they've ever been apart since college. No wonder Santana felt the need to drink herself into oblivion. She never has coped being away from Brittany for any length of time. "Does she have to work tomorrow? Because that's not going to be pretty."

"No, she's heading back first thing. Or she is if she manages to make her flight."

"B, I'm fairly certain there is nothing in the world that will stop her from being on that plane. She isn't going to be away from you for any longer than she has to be." If Santana does miss her flight, then Quinn feels sorry any airport workers who might have to deal with her.

"Yeah, I know, but Quinn, I think they put something in the water in San Diego, because she seems to be acting a little more weird than she usually does when she's away. The first night, she was okay. She called and we talked, and she was fine. Then last night, and please don't ever tell her I told you this, but she cried and just kept telling me how much she missed me, which only made me cry, and it quickly became this whole tear-fest thing."

"And tonight's meltdown?"

"I think that was my fault. She was going to come home today, as soon as they were finished, but then she said the others were going out for drinks after the last meeting, and I told her she should stay and go with them. I thought she'd have fun, not..."

"Get herself completely smashed?"

"Yeah."

"You seem to be handling it better than your wife at least." It feels weird to think that they've been married for three months now. She wonders if they're still in the honeymoon phase. Knowing them, they probably are.

"Not really. Just...differently." Brittany sighs. "All I've done for the past three nights is sit here, staring at the phone, terrified it's going to ring and it'll be someone telling me something bad's happened to her."

Quinn really isn't sure what to say to that, but feels like she ought to say something, try to offer some words of comfort. "Britt..."

Brittany must not want to hear it though, as she quickly cuts her off. "I know, it's silly. And anyway, she'll be home tomorrow, and everything will be right again."

"I'm just thankful that you didn't believe her. For a moment there, I was scared you'd be hiring an assassin to kill me."

"Don't worry, Quinn. Assassins are so not worth the money. I'd totally do the deed myself."

Not what she really wanted to hear, but at least she's safe for the time being.

Or she thinks she is until Brittany lowers her voice. "You might still need to watch your back though, cause I think Santana mentioned something about murdering you to prove her love and devotion to me. Which I thought was kinda sweet of her."

Sweet isn't the word Quinn would use. Crazy would be more accurate. Although she has always known that Santana would quite happily push her under a bus if it would benefit Brittany so she really isn't all that surprised. Her only hope is that this latest threat is just the alcohol talking. "Brittany, what's the chances of her actually remembering any of tonight?"

"Well she fell asleep after about five minutes while she was talking to me before, so pretty much zero I think."

"And any chance we can keep it that way?"

"But that'd mean I can't tease her about her hitting on you." Quinn can just imagine the pout on Brittany's face right now.

"She didn't hit on me. She thought she was hitting on you. Let's just keep that clear."

There's silence for a while, as if Brittany is thinking things over, then she says, "I can't not tell her, Quinn. It'd be like I was keeping secrets from her. And I don't do that."

Quinn thought that would be her answer, but it was worth asking. "How did she end up calling me instead of you anyway?" It always seems to be her luck that she's on the receiving end of Santana's drunk dialing.

"I guess she hit the wrong key, pressed number two on the speed dial instead of number one."

"Wait, I'm number two on her speed dial?"

"Well, yeah. You're number two on all the speed dials. Santana's cell, my cell, the house phone, San's work phone, the phone at the studio. Actually you're numbers two, three and four. Cell, work and home. Which is kinda greedy of you, Quinn. You really should only have one phone number. It would make everything so much easier. It's like, how are people supposed to know which one to call when?"

Quinn's still trying to digest the news that they'd even put her on speed dial, leaving aside the fact that she didn't think anybody even used speed dial anymore.

Brittany must pick up on her shock. "You're surprised. Quinn, who else did you think it would have been?"

"No, it's just..." She really doesn't know what to say. Soppy, sentimental things are all that's coming to mind, like telling Brittany that she really misses her and Santana like crazy sometimes. Or that she loves the two of them, three am phone calls and all. But saying things like that just isn't her. Never has been.

Thankfully Brittany understands that. Her ability to read people seems to have only gotten better over the years, as now apparently she can do it even without any visual cues to help her, and so Brittany saves her from having to say anything. "I know, Quinn. We love you too. Anyway, you should go get some sleep. I'm sure you've got important work stuff to do tomorrow. Even if I still don't understand what it is you do exactly, I know it seems pretty stressful."

"It can be."

"Not too stressful though, right?" There's a hint of worry in Brittany's voice.

"No, Brittany, not too stressful."

"Good. Then night, Quinn."

"Night."

Once Brittany has hung up, typically Quinn finds that she doesn't feel tired anymore and knows there's really no point in even trying to get any sleep. No, it'll be a much better use of her time to re-read over her reports ready for her presentation. But before that, she decides she might just dig out the instructions for her phone, so she can figure out how to record a personal answering machine message in the hope that it will stop anyone else leaving messages on there thinking they've called someone else.

And maybe she might also look up how to program the speed dial while she's at it.


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn's plan had been to come home and get blind drunk. She thinks that's an appropriate response to being taken out to dinner by her boyfriend of seven months only to be given the whole 'It's not you, it's me' speech over the creme brulee. However something about sitting home alone downing a bottle of vodka had seemed a little too pathetic, even by her standards. So instead she'd settled for three glasses of wine and posting an incredibly bitter status update on Facebook.

She's also collected up every last item of his that he's left in her apartment and is debating whether to throw them in the trash or to have an impromptu bonfire in her living room when the phone rings.

She almost doesn't answer it. There's no-one she really wants to talk to right now, she's quite content wallowing in her own self-pity. However the last time she had posted something that depressing online and then had proceeded to not answer her phone, two police officers had turned up on her doorstep to check she was alive. Something about an anonymous phone-call from a concerned citizen who was worried that Quinn was planning on attempting suicide to escape her miserable existence. Their words, not hers. It had taken two hours to convince them she was fine and get them to leave. She's sure Rachel Berry was responsible for that, no matter how much she might have denied it.

Either way she can't risk another visit like that, next time she's sure it'll end with her being committed into the nearest psych ward. No, much safer to just answer the phone and pray it isn't Rachel on the other end. "Hello."

"The guy's a dick." Santana is the last person Quinn expects to be calling. "He's a dick and if you want me to fly out there and go all Lima Heights on his ass, you just say the word, Q."

Quinn's tempted to take her up on that offer for the entertainment value alone. "Thanks, S, but it's fine. I'm fine."

"So you're not sitting home alone, getting smashed out of your skull?" Santana doesn't sound convinced.

"More just sitting home alone, feeling sorry for myself, no alcohol involved."

"Well good. Good, because the jerk is so not worth it. Quinn, you can do so much better than a douche like that."

"Santana, you never even met him." Quinn doesn't know why but she feels the need to defend him a little, because really he isn't a bad guy. "So how can you say he's a douche?"

"Because, Fabray, you were dating him and you have a type. Rich, entitled assholes who treat you like crap. What, you gonna try and tell me I'm wrong?"

Santana may just have a point, as that would quite accurately describe the last four guys Quinn dated.

Santana carries on, not waiting to see whether Quinn agrees with her or not. "And this Dylan guy..."

"Derek. His name is Derek."

That seems to make Santana pause for a moment. "Really, Quinn? Derek? That should have been a red flag from the start. You don't date guys called Derek because they always turn out to be somebody's evil twin and try to murder you and all your friends. Hasn't TV taught you anything?"

Quinn's starting to wonder if maybe Santana is the one who's been drinking tonight, and she leans back against the sofa as Santana continues her rant. Or Santana does until there's a sudden yelp that causes said rant to come to a grinding halt. "You pinched me? What did I do that..."

Quinn can suddenly hear another voice in the background, one that she is fairly certain is Brittany's.

Santana sighs. "So anyway my point was that this jerk, like all the other guys you've ever dated, is clearly a loser. You keep going for these hot football players..."

"Baseball. He plays baseball."

Santana clearly doesn't care about that distinction. "And the same thing happens every single time. They always get bored of you after a few months, because all they want is some dumb bimbo on their arm and..." There's more hushed words in the background. "What? I'm not being mean. You said I was supposed to insult the guy. That that was the best friend's job after a break up, and now I'm in trouble for it?" Santana lets out a huff.

Quinn can't help smiling. "Brittany made you call, didn't she?"

"No. She didn't make me call."

"Then why does it sound like she's giving you instructions in the background?"

"She's just...supervising."

"What is she worried that your attempts to cheer me up will only manage to drive me to suicide?"

"God, Quinn, don't even joke about that. Do you know how many favors I had to call in to get those cops to come over and check on you the last time you got dumped and dropped off the grid?"

"That was you?" Quinn had been convinced that only Rachel Berry would have been so melodramatic to be behind that, but apparently she'd been wrong.

"I had to do something. Brittany wouldn't stop crying. She was convinced that you were lying dead in there and no-one would find your body until the smell alerted the neighbors. And calling the cops seemed like less effort than having to fly out there and break your door down."

Quinn doesn't know how to respond to that, she thinks she should be flattered that they were that worried about her, but then why do they always have to go about showing that concern in the craziest way possible?

"Quinn, have you ever considering just packing it all in and going to live in a nunnery somewhere, far, far, far away from all civilization?"

That makes Quinn tune back into the conversation. "What?"

"I'm just saying it would have solved a lot of your issues over the years if you'd just become a nun straight out of high school."

"Santana, I'm not becoming a nun." Quinn rubs at her forehead, wishing this conversation was over and considering just hanging up if Santana doesn't change the subject soon.

"You know, Trouty is still single, despite the countless women that me and Britts have set him up with, or the thousands of times we've played 'Have You Met Sam'. You sure you don't just want to marry him? It'd save us all a lot of hassle."

And now Quinn wishes they were still talking about that convent. "Santana, I'm not marrying Sam just to make your life easier."

"I'm just saying that maybe you should make one of those deals with him. That if you're both still single in another five years, you get married. That's all. I just don't want to see you end up on the news one day because you've been eaten by your twenty cats and..."

There's hushed voices in the background and the sounds of a scuffle, then Quinn's greeted by Brittany's voice. "Hey, Quinn."

"Brittany, thank God." Quinn's never been so relieved to speak to Brittany in her life. It's strange how sometimes she forgets that Brittany is the sane one of the two. "Santana still hasn't grasped the whole concept of being a shoulder to cry on, has she?"

"She's..." Brittany trails off, clearly searching for the right words. "She's getting better at it."

If that's true then Quinn really doesn't want to imagine what Santana's early attempts had been like. "Let me guess, she's sulking that you've taken the phone off her?" Quinn can just picture Santana sitting there, arms folded, scowl fixed on her face.

"Yep. It's really cute."

Quinn doesn't think Santana would agree with her wife on that one. "B, it's not that I don't appreciate the phone-call, but I'm fine. I promise."

"Quinn, you just got dumped. Of course, you're not fine, and it's okay not to be fine."

That doesn't mean Quinn wants to talk about it though. "I guess I just..." She shrugs, then realizes that that gesture isn't exactly helpful over the telephone. "I didn't even see it coming this time, normally I can tell when a guy's about to break up with me, but this time? I had no idea."

"That's gotta suck."

"Yeah, just a little." She sits up, wondering if it's too late to start drinking that vodka after-all. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do differently."

"Santana thinks you should stop dating men."

"Yes, I know, I get it, she thinks I should become a nun." Quinn's getting really tired of this topic of conversation, especially as it's starting to sound like not that bad of an idea. Least she'd get some peace and quiet.

"I always thought she meant you should start dating women instead, but whatever works for you, Quinn. Hey, maybe you could find one of those musical convents and you can teach all the other nuns to sing. That would be kinda cool, I guess, not sure it'd be enough to make up for the whole never having sex again part, but then it's not like you ever got much anyway, right? So I'm sure you'd soon get used to it."

Quinn was wondering how long it would take Brittany to make this conversation about her sex life. She still gets nervous every time Brittany brings it up, and who can blame her after-all for her birthday one year, Brittany had hired her an escort for the evening, which was more than a little creepy. "B, maybe you should put Santana back on the phone now."

"Oh, okay." Brittany sounds disappointed, but the phone is passed back to Santana.

"Hold on, Quinn, I'm gonna put you on speaker." Clearly Santana doesn't trust herself to have any more success at this than Brittany. "Listen, Fabray, we're just worried about you, okay? It sucks that you're so far away and we can't just turn up on your doorstep with ice cream and chick flicks anymore."

"Santana, when have you ever done that?"

"Well we would have done if you lived in the same city as us."

Brittany clearly agrees with Santana on that. "We do that for Sam, like twice a month. Cept for him it's superhero movies and not chick flicks."

Santana groans. "And then we end up having to sit through several Star Wars movies or Avatar and..."

Brittany continues, "But Avatar's not that bad because Sam usually falls asleep half way through so then me and Santana can..."

Santana coughs, loudly. "Quinn doesn't need to know about that, B."

Quinn really really doesn't want to know about whatever that is. "Look, I'm not dating Sam again." She doesn't like where this conversation is heading and feels the need to make that clear before it goes any further.

Quinn's surprised when it's Brittany that pushes the issue this time. "Why not, Quinn? Sam's a nice guy and you two always looked good together, like if Ken and Barbie actually existed, they'd look like you two."

Quinn doesn't see that as being a good thing.

Neither does Santana apparently. "I dunno, Britt. They always reminded me of those creepy blonde kids from Village of the Damned. It used to freak me out a little."

"So stop suggesting I get back together with him then." Quinn is far too sober for this, and that bottle of vodka is calling out to her. Clearly this is a sign that she should just go to bed.

"Okay, okay. Jeez, Quinn. We're only trying to help."

Quinn knows they are, but sometimes it feels like they just don't get it. In fact she's sure they don't. "I don't think you two realize how lucky you are to have each other."

There's silence for a while, then eventually Santana breaks it. "No, Quinn, we do. We know exactly how lucky we are."

Something tells Quinn that they're giving each other that look now, that one of complete adoration and she fights the urge to roll her eyes, not that they could see her anyway but she fights it anyway, she owes them that much. "Anyway, thanks again for your concern, but I think what I need is to go get some sleep."

There's silence again and Quinn knows that they're debating whether to let her go or not.

This time it's Brittany who speaks. "Listen, Quinn, when's the last time you took a vacation?"

Quinn actually can't remember. She thinks the last time she took a break from work was for their wedding. "Probably too long."

"Then listen, how about you blow work off, take some of those vacation days you've got stored up and come stay with us for a bit? If you do, Santana will even promise not to set you up with Sam."

Quinn's about to agree when Santana has to join the conversation. "No, Santana won't promise that. Because Trouty really needs to get laid so even if you don't wanna date him, maybe you could just..."

"Santana, I don't think that's going to help to get Quinn to agree to fly out here."

"Fine, no setting you up with Trouty." Santana pauses, then asks, "What do you think about lawyers?"

Quinn finds she can't even bring herself to be annoyed. "Santana, for some reason I don't have much faith in your matchmaking skills, but I suppose hypothetically if you were to invite some cute lawyer type to dinner with the three of us one night, maybe I wouldn't kill you."

"So that means you're coming out here then?" Santana sounds like she doesn't quite believe Quinn has agreed to their plan.

"Let me talk to work tomorrow, but yeah, I think maybe some sun will do me good."

At that, the two of them both start making plans for this trip and Quinn quickly interrupts them. "Okay, look, I've agreed, can we leave it at that before you two end up talking me out of it with your crazy ideas?" They both mutter apologies, leaving Quinn shaking her head. "Okay, I will call you tomorrow. And guys?"

"Yeah, Quinn?"

"Thanks."

"We're still the Unholy Trinity, Q. We're always gonna have your back, you know that."

Quinn does know that, and it's at times like this, she's never more thankful for that.


	4. Chapter 4

Quinn thinks she must be becoming immune to being woken at ridiculous times in the morning by her phone ringing. She must be because she no longer nearly falls out of bed anymore, never feels that deep set panic like she used to. Now she doesn't even really wake up, doesn't even open her eyes, instead she blindly reaches out for her cellphone and answers it without even needing to check the caller ID.

This is a problem this morning however as she isn't at home. Instead all she manages to do is knock over the lamp that had up until now been sitting innocently on the hotel desk. Thankfully it doesn't sound like it breaks though. She can do without a bill for damages to the room.

"Wha...?" He stirs beside her.

She shushes him, sitting up and opening her eyes so she can actually see where her cellphone is. "Go back to sleep." Following that advice by turning on the lights might be a little counterproductive but the damage is done the second she hits the switch. For once she considers not answering, but she knows from experience that Santana will only keep calling until she does pick up. "What?" She knows she's being rude, she hopes that means Santana might get annoyed and hang up on her. A girl can dream, right?

"You slept with Sam."

Quinn's eyes drift across to the said Sam Evans who pulls an arm across his face to try and block out the light. "How did you know..." She really hopes Santana hasn't developed some kind of psychic powers. That would just spell disaster for pretty much the entire human race as Quinn can't imagine Santana ever using those powers for good.

"He told me."

"He told you?" Quinn frowns, wondering just when Sam had found the time to call Santana to fill her in on tonight's events. If she's honest, she's a little insulted that she wasn't able to hold his full attention.

Santana's about to enter rant mode. "Something you clearly had no intention of doing. You were supposed to be in town to see me and Britts, but the minute our backs are turned you bailed on us to seduce Trouty Mouth and..."

"Wait, you're talking about San Francisco?" Quinn sighs as relief sets in.

"Of course I'm talking about San Francisco. What else is there to talk about?"

"Nothing." Plenty. San Diego. Los Angeles. Seattle. Portland. Luckily Quinn's company has several west coast clients, which has given her excuses to fly out there and meet up with Sam. Sam doesn't seem to have told Santana about any of those at least. But if Santana only knows about San Francisco, then it doesn't make any sense for her to be yelling at Quinn about it now, six months after the fact. Santana can be irrational, but not that irrational. "Santana, why are we having this conversation now?"

"Why not have it now? Unless you have something better to be doing?"

Quinn's eyes flit across to Sam, who's sitting up now and frowning at her. "No, nothing better to do."

"Where are you anyway?"

Quinn hesitates. "Erm...at home."

"No, you're not." Maybe Santana has developed psychic powers after all. "Now, seriously, where are you?"

Quinn's not awake enough to think of any other answer but the truth. "Glenwood Springs."

Sam's eyes widen and he makes a frantic cutting gesture at her. Clearly it's far too late for that.

"Glenwood Springs?" There's a dangerous edge to Santana's voice. "The same Glenwood Springs where Trouty Mouth told us he's spending the weekend? See I don't usually pay much attention to whatever he's babbling on about, but this I remember because for the past three weeks he hasn't shut up about white water rafting. Guess it wasn't the rafting he was excited about after all."

"Must just be a coincidence."

"Oh come on. You're really going to try and keep this up? Okay, fine, let's for a minute assume that Trouty actually is there for the rafting, for what possible reason are you going to claim you're there?"

"Business." It's vague enough that it possibly might work.

"Bullshit." Or not. "You're with him now, aren't you?"

"No." Quinn doesn't know what makes her lie, she's clearly lost this one already.

"Really?"

Quinn's about to lie again, out of habit more than anything else at this point, but she's interrupted by Sam's cellphone which conveniently, too conveniently, starts to ring, his ring-tone far too loud to hope Santana won't hear it.

He scrambles to answer it but Quinn knows it's all over.

"Wait, hold up, is that the Star Wars theme I can hear? Now why would that be playing in your hotel room, Quinn?"

Sam still hasn't answered his phone and Quinn is starting to get a headache. She turns and glares at him. "Aren't you going to get that?"

He looks reluctant to do so. "It's Brittany."

"You want to take Santana instead?" She holds her phone out, but he quickly shakes his head and answers his own phone.

"Hey, Brittany." He slides off the bed and paces over to the other side of the room where he sinks down in the armchair.

Quinn turns her attention back to Santana. Lying isn't getting her anywhere, so Quinn tries the next best thing, changing the subject. "Why are you calling, Santana?"

"Apparently so you can lie to my face."

"Technically it's not lying to your face when it's over the phone."

Santana ignores her. "You're sleeping with Sam, and you've been sleeping with Sam since the last time you were in San Francisco."

Quinn knows there's no point in denying it any longer. "Okay, but why are you mad at me? Santana, you're the one who suggested I sleep with him in the first place."

"All these years and you choose now to start taking my advice? Seriously, what the hell, Quinn?"

Quinn's not in the mood for whatever this is all about, especially as she doesn't understand why Santana suddenly has a problem with her seeing Sam. "Why is this an issue?"

"Because."

"Because? That's your reasoning here? You're mad at me just because? What is this high school all over again?" She's getting angry now and it's only Sam moving to sit next to her and placing a hand on her arm that gets her to stop and take a breath instead of saying something she'll regret.

He's still talking to Brittany and Quinn moves her own phone away from her ear to listen to him instead of Santana. "Look, Britt, will you tell Santana that while it's cool she cares about me enough to chew Quinn out over this, I'm a big boy and she's gotta let me make my own mistakes."

Something stings inside of Quinn to hear him call this a mistake out-loud, even if the voice inside her head has been telling her that very thing since San Francisco.

Sam takes hold of her hand. "Me and Quinn, we know what we're doing, okay? So Santana needs to just butt out and mind her own business."

Being at the other end of a phone-line must have made Sam braver than usual as Quinn suspects he wouldn't dare say that to Santana's face.

She can hear Brittany in the background now, no doubt passing along Sam's message. Hopefully Brittany won't relay it word for word.

Santana sighs, signaling that Brittany is done. "Fine, Quinn, it's your life. If you want to spend time kissing those guppy lips, then it's your choice. And I suppose at least he's a slight improvement on your usual boyfriends."

"Santana..."

"No, I'm sorry, okay? It's just you're my best friends." Quinn knows what it takes for Santana to actually admit that out loud. "And I don't want to end up losing either of you when it all crashes and burns and I'm stuck in the middle of a war zone all of a sudden." It's good to know Santana has such faith in her. "And I don't want to see either of you get hurt over this. Especially as it was my stupid idea in the first place."

"That's not going to..."

"Quinn, don't make promises you can't keep. The only thing we both know for sure is that you're not going to marry him and have lots of creepy blond children. So let's not pretend otherwise, okay?"

Quinn doesn't even know what to say to that, so she says nothing.

Santana sighs. "Look, I need to go. Things to do, you know?" She hangs up before Quinn can say anything else.

Sam holds his phone out to her. "Britt wants to talk to you."

This can't be good. Quinn slowly takes it from him. "Hey, Brittany." She tries to sound cheerful. It doesn't work.

Brittany at least gets straight to the point. "Don't hurt him, Quinn."

So apparently it's not only Santana that doesn't trust her not to screw up a relationship. "Brittany, I won't..."

"I know you never mean to, but whenever you date a nice guy that's kinda what always ends up happening. But just try really hard not to this time, okay? For us?"

"I'll try, okay?"

"Thanks." There's silence for a few seconds as if Brittany is debating whether to say whatever else is on her mind. Eventually, she says, "You know why she's really mad, Quinn? Because you two have been sneaking around for months and neither of you trusted her enough to tell her. You lied to her, Quinn, and that's not cool."

It's not like either of them deliberately kept it from Santana. They hadn't told anybody about it. Well she hadn't. She's less sure about Sam now that she knows he told Santana about sleeping with her the first time it happened.

"Quinn, I'll tell you what I told Sam. Lie to her again and it'll be me you need to answer to, okay?"

Quinn swallows. "Okay."

Brittany quickly hangs up and Quinn gives Sam his phone back. He attempts a smile. "Isn't it awesome having friends that care about us?"

She can't help asking, "What _are_ we doing?"

Sam looks like he has as much of an idea as she does. Eventually he says, "All I know is I like spending time with you. You're cool and we have fun together. And I really, really like having sex with you. So does anything else matter?"

Maybe it should, but when he's looking at her the way he is right now and they have a perfectly good hotel room to make the most of, Quinn finds he's right, nothing else does seem to matter at all right now.


	5. Chapter 5

Quinn had only been thinking this afternoon about how long it's been since she's received any phone calls from Brittany or Santana, middle of the night or otherwise. So in a way she's not surprised when she's woken by her phone ringing dead on four am.

Sure enough the caller ID shows Santana's name. She knew had been tempting fate by thinking that those calls were a thing of the past. If she's honest, she's actually a little relieved that they're not. She recovers just in time to answer it before it goes to voicemail. "Hello?"

"Britt wants us to have a baby."

Months of silence, of freezing her out, and that's how Santana opens the conversation. "And you felt the need to phone me at four in the morning to tell me this because?"

There's a pause, then Santana just repeats, "Britt wants us to have a baby."

"Okay." This can't have come as a shock to Santana, in fact Quinn's surprised that it's taken them this long to talk about it.

Santana sighs. "She left a book of baby names out on the kitchen table last night."

Quinn can hear the fear in Santana's voice. "That's it? So you two haven't even talked about it, yet you're freaking out over a book?"

"It's not just the book. I keep finding IVF leaflets scattered around the house. And she's been making loads of random comments about how cute little brats are lately."

"Awww, she's trying to be subtle." Quinn can't really blame Brittany for not wanting to take the direct approach when it comes to this subject. There's always been a strong chance of any baby talk having Santana running for the hills.

"Yeah, well, not subtle enough that I can ignore it for much longer."

Sometimes Quinn feels like a parrot when it comes to giving advice to Santana. "Then how about you stop being such an idiot and actually have the conversation with her?"

There's silence at the other end of the line and Quinn just waits. Eventually Santana says, "What if I don't know what to say?"

"Have you seriously never talked about this before? About having kids?"

"Yeah, but it was always hypothetical, you know? When we have kids. It wasn't real, just something that might happen far, far in the future."

"And now?"

"Now it scares the shit out of me, and it shouldn't, should it?"

"Actually, yeah, I think that's pretty normal." Quinn knows that she was terrified all throughout her pregnancy with Beth.

"Brittany doesn't seem scared."

"You don't know that, seeing as you won't talk to her about it. Seems to me like she must be frightened of your reaction at least, or else she wouldn't be leaving pamphlets lying around for you to find instead of just saying, Hey Santana, let's you and me pop out a few kids."

"A few kids?" There's definite panic in Santana's voice now, and Quinn only just manages to stop herself from laughing.

"You think Brittany would settle for just one?"

"Thanks, Quinn, thanks a lot. That really helps, you pointing that out right now."

"Well, what did you expect when you phone me at four in the morning?"

Apparently even Santana can't argue with that logic. "Yeah, fair point."

"Look, S, I'm not really the person you should be talking to about all this, am I?" Though she's pleased that Santana must still think of her as a friend if she called her for advice. Or maybe she's the only person who will actually take Santana's calls no matter what crazy time she phones them.

There's silence for so long that Quinn starts to wonder if Santana is even still there. She's about to hang up when Santana asks, "What if it hates me?"

That throws Quinn for a second, but she quickly recovers. "Okay, stop, just stop. You don't get to call at this time if you're just going to be ridiculous about this whole thing. I can list dozens of reasons why any child would be lucky to have you as a mother, but if you want that then you can just phone back at a decent hour, preferably after I've had my caffeine fix for the day. Otherwise go wake up your wife and annoy her with your insecurities." That suggestion is met with nothing but a long awkward silence. Quinn should be surprised really. Santana never has taken well to being told what to do.

"Q, I know we haven't talked in a while." And a swift change in the topic of conversation from Santana confirms Quinn's theory that she shouldn't be expecting to be a godmother anytime soon. "Listen, about Sam..."

Ah, Sam. The elephant in the room. The reason she hasn't spoken to Santana or Brittany in months. Not that she can really blame them. Santana was already pissed about the whole thing and so it really hadn't helped matters when Sam had found out Quinn had also been dating an accountant. Not that her and Sam had ever said they were exclusive. How could they be when they were living so far apart? But anyway now Sam won't take her calls and her best friends are giving her the silent treatment. Or they were anyway. "Don't, okay? Let's just leave that topic alone." She really doesn't want an argument with Santana over Sam again. Not now, not ever.

"You don't think we need to talk about it?"

Quinn really doesn't. "You just want me to say you were right."

"Well, yeah. But if it counts for anything, I wish I wasn't."

Quinn almost tells her it's okay, not to worry about it, but something stops her from just brushing it off. "It hurt, you know? That you took his side. That you choose him over me. I know I screwed up and you'd warned me not to hurt him. But it still hurt that you took his side and just cut me out your lives like that."

"And you what, want me to apologize for that? I was pissed at you. You cheated on him. And I knew if I spoke to you, I'd end up saying something I'd regret. Something that no amount of apologies would ever fix."

"And Brittany?"

"She was even more pissed at you than I was."

Quinn has no trouble believing that. "So why are you calling now?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Jeez, you're really gonna make me say it, aren't you, Fabray?" Quinn is, but only because as usual she has no idea what Santana is thinking. Santana lets out a huff, but does continue. "I miss you, okay? Happy? I could have called anyone over this stupid baby thing, because let's be honest, anyone with half a brain cell would tell me the same thing. That I need to talk to Brittany about it. But maybe I'm a masochist, because I actually missed having you there to kick my ass when I need it. So I called you, okay?"

"Okay." Quinn isn't sure what else she can say to that particular rant.

"Okay." Santana sounds relieved that Quinn isn't going to make a big deal out of it. "So anyway, I should go before I feel the need to burst into a song about the power of friendship or some crap."

"Or start crying more like."

"Bitch, please." Santana might deny it, but Quinn knows that's exactly how this conversation is going to end if it carries on much longer.

There's one more thing she needs to say though before Santana hangs up on her. "I meant what I said. You know that, right? That you're gonna make one hell of a mother, Santana."

"Wish I shared your faith in me. But it kinda doesn't matter in a way."

"Why not?"

"Because it'll have Britt as a mother too, and we all know she's gonna be the most kick-ass mom ever."

Quinn has to smile at that. "I think this baby is gonna be the luckiest kid in the world. Now go have that talk with your wife. Sooner you do, sooner I get to be a godmother."

"Knew this would all be about you somehow."

"Of course. Didn't you know that I'm living my life vicariously through you two?"

"Well, why wouldn't you? We're awesome."

Quinn doesn't feel the need to agree with that out loud. "Well now that's cleared up, go away and let me get some sleep."

"Later, Quinn."

"And Santana?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you too."


End file.
